No Accident
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: “I’m sorry, Dean, I was being careful…”
1. No Accident

**No Accident**  
K Hanna Korossy

It was a tough decision. Dean eyed his choices soberly, measuring one against the other.

Okay, suck-it-up time. "The reuben," he decided, smiling pleasantly at the white-haired lady behind the counter. "Please." She looked like somebody's mom, and he found himself automatically dusting off his manners.

"Fries and slaw with that?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean said appreciatively; it was the salty-fried smell that had drawn him in in the first place. Well, that and the fact it was the only restaurant in walking distance that didn't have a plastic, nationally-trademarked mascot. "And a chicken salad sandwich and soup-of-the-day to go, please."

She rung it up, pushing actual round metal buttons on the old-fashioned cash register, when his cell rang. Dean fished it out absently as he watched her put some muscle into it, then got distracted by the beefy guy starting in on his sandwich. The mom-'n-pop places always were generous with servings, and the pile of corned beef was already making his mouth water. Dean flipped his phone open.

"Yeah?"

_"Dean?"_

Dean stared at the food a moment longer before Sam's tone sunk in. Slightly winded, slightly off. He slid his eyes away, handing a twenty to the cashier, then stepping away from the counter while she wrestled with the change. "Sam? What's going on?"

_"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry." _

Oh, that really didn't sound good. Dean waved away the change and stepped outside the shop into the relative privacy of the awning-covered sidewalk. "Sorry for what? Sam? What's wrong?"

_"I'm sorry,"_Sam repeated, voice breathy and on the verge of cracking, and considering he'd been standing firm and foreboding between a spirit and a briefly dazed Dean the night before, the difference was striking. _"After last time…Dean, I know you loved her…"_

His stomach dropped into his shoes at that, and Dean reached out unconsciously to brace a hand on the back of a bench nestled against the wall. This was about Mom? He wasn't sure he was ready for any conversation like that, not with Dad's death so fresh. "Sam," he barked, "quit pussying around and tell me what's going on!"

_"I'm sorry, Dean, I was being careful…"_

His mind flashed through possibilities: some ritual gone wrong? Sam getting into something over his head? He couldn't…he couldn't really have tried something with Mom, right? They'd just been to visit her grave, but it wasn't like she was in there… "Sam, what—?"

But something caught his attention, had been tugging at his subconscious all along, Dean suddenly realized. Soft, pained pants, interspersed by occasional stirrings and hitches of breath. Even as Dean frowned, focusing more closely, he could hear Sam suck in a breath, the moan that followed nearly sub-vocal.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded. That was why Sam sounded about ten; that was why Dean's shoulders had hunched up around his ears, his body reacting before his mind even recognized the cause. A fresh wave of fear flowed over Dean, a drenching of cold. "Sam, answer me—are you hurt?"

A pause, the uneven breathing reined in a little. _"There's blood. My head…"_Sam sounded almost puzzled.

Dean swore. "Tell me where you are."

A sobbed breath. _"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm—"_

Dean rubbed his forehead, hard. He really didn't want to hear any of this right now, nothing but what would get him to Sam fastest. "Sam, listen to me, I forgive you, okay? Just tell me where you are."

More breathing. Dean paced a tight circle, jumping a little when someone rapped on the window next to him. Cashier Mom held up his bag with a smile. Dean shook his head tersely and turned away.

He was about to call for Sam again when his brother's voice returned, only a whisper.

_"We're in the water. Road just…caved…" _

_We? _Oh, crap. The "she" suddenly made sense now. Dean's hand dropped from his head, clenching into a fist. "You ran off the road? Sam?" He'd just been on a milkrun, checking out some carvings on an old tree a mile or so out of town while Dean got lunch. He quickly ran through the geography of the area in his head. "At the bridge? You ran the car off the friggin' bridge?"

Sam groaned. _"I'm sorry…" _

Dean's eyes were already darting up and down the main strip, seeking a way to get out to the old bridge they'd passed on their way into town. A few vehicles were parked along the small street, one of them, in front of the hardware store, a tow truck. Dean stalked toward it. "Sam, listen to me, can you get out of the car safely?"

There was some movement, another groan, more harsh breathing. _"Door's bent."_

"Try the other one," Dean said tightly. He pushed the hardware door in, eyes sweeping the place.

A small whimper made him cringe, then he heard the creak of his baby's hinges. They sounded louder than usual, and the mechanic in him was already calculating how she was hurt, what would need work. Dean ruthlessly switched the deliberation off; he couldn't think about that right now.

"Sam?"

_"'M out." _

"Good. Now, climb up on the bank, out of the water, okay?" There. The guy's hat had the same logo as the tow truck. Dean strode down the plumbing aisle, already tucking the phone under his chin and digging for his wallet. "Sam?"

Scratching and swishing sounds filled his ear. It took Dean a moment to realize Sam was using his hands to climb, phone still tightly clenched in one. Dean took advantage of the lull to stop next to the tow-truck guy and wave a handful of twenties in his face. "I need a ride."

Tow-truck guy instantly set down the plunger he'd been fondling and, face brightening, plucked the money from Dean's hand. "Sure, Mister, anywhere you want."

_"Dean?"_

"Sam." He led the way out of the store, attention fully back on his phone. "You okay? Are you out of the water?"

_"Dean, I'm sorry." _And just as he closed his eyes to calm himself down before he growled at Sam to stop it, Sam's voice changed, deepening, aging into the Sam he recognized. _"You just fixed her up again after I broke her the last time. I'm sorry, man, should've seen it coming, should've saved you and Dad—"_

He stopped so suddenly, tow-truck guy ran into his back.

Dean was pretty sure he gaped a little. Felt the ground fall out from under his feet and clenched the phone so hard it hurt.

And was suddenly transported back in time fifteen years.

00000

"I'm sorry, Dean."

_"Why?" Instantly suspicious. _

"I tried—"_ A hiccup. _"I tried to be careful with it."

_Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Aw, dude, tell me you didn't." _

"It's…it's just a little tear. It won't ev-even show…"

_"You said you'd take care of it, Sam! That's why I let you borrow it." Dad's jacket, of all things—Dean should've known better, but Sam had given him that look…_

"I know, Dean, I'm sorry. I'll p-pay for it."

_"You can't—" Dean suddenly ground to a halt. Wait. It was more than guilt, or even fear of his big brother's wrath that was making Sam's voice tremble. The kid was trying not to cry. "Sammy," he asked cautiously, "how'd it get torn?" _

_Another hiccup-sob._"I tried to run faster, Dean, b-but they caught up to me. I'm sorry…"

_Dean's anger instantly changed course, subsumed for the moment. "It's all right, Sammy, it's just a stupid jacket. Just tell me where you are and I'll come get ya. Everything's gonna be fine, okay?"_

_And after a shaky breath, his brother's voice, full of faith. _"Okay."

00000

"Sam." His voice was so rough, he had to clear his throat. "Sammy, you listen to me. None of that was your fault. The car, dad, me, none of it. I don't blame you. Well, maybe for the car this time, but we'll talk about that later. Right now, all you have to think about is pressing down hard on anything that's bleeding, and staying awake until I get there, you got me? Do you hear me?"

A short pause, Sam's breathing loud in his ear. Then, weakly, _"I'm bleeding, dude, not deaf." _

It might as well have been a small but trusting _okay. _

Dean finally exhaled, sliding into the passenger seat of the tow truck. "I'll be there soon."

The thought of the car still made him cringe, but it and the jacket were just things, replaceable. He still had his brother, and the belief Sam still seemed to keep in him. Those were what mattered.

He just wasn't going to let Sam drive his baby again, ever.

**One End, or Keep Reading... **


	2. Optional Part Two

_Author's note: For me, this vignette was complete with the last chapter, but I got outvoted. So for better or for worse, here's part two; just remember, you asked for it!_

Dean was out the door before the truck even lurched to a stop, prompting a yelped "hey!" from tow-truck guy behind him.

Dean didn't look back. "Take care of the car," he snapped half over one shoulder, and headed for Sam.

From the direction they'd come, Dean hadn't been able to see his brother at first, just the Impala's listing rear. He'd flinched at the sight of her, instinctively cataloging that she was in one piece, not visibly broken, but front panel-deep in the creek that ran under the bridge. Then Dean had set her aside and craned to see Sam.

The kid was actually just beyond the car, sitting on the sloped bank of the creek. His long legs were drawn up, and his head was bent down to rest in the crook of his knees. It made for a far smaller form than Dean had been looking for, and one that cranked up his anxiety over that last bit of distance until the truck stopped by the bridge.

"Sam!" he barked, Dad's tone of command, and Sam's head snapped up in automatic obedience. Three years of college life hadn't been able to undo eighteen years of training. Dean regretted pushing that button, however, when Sam blanched at the sudden movement and his head dropped back down.

There was blood.

Dean slid down the bank next to him, boots tearing at the slick grass as he swung himself around in front of his brother. "Sam," he said more gently, coaxing instead of ordering. His hand curled uncertainly over the one Sam had jammed against the side of his head, a handkerchief bunched between the long fingers. Half the material was deep red. "You okay? Let me see."

Dean started to peel his grip away, only to have Sam shove a shoulder against him. "I'm all right, Dean," he said, voice muffled against his jeans.

Dean paused, dipped down to see his face. "Sam?" His brother had grown quiet on the line the last few minutes of the drive, and Dean hadn't been sure what he'd find when he got there. Sam pushing him away hadn't really made the list.

The shaggy head rose more gingerly this time, and Sam squinted at him. "I'm sorry, man, I shouldn't've called you like that. 'M fine, just…hit my head on the stupid door."

_I'm sorry. _The frantic words spilling from his phone just minutes before had painted a very different picture in Dean's head, and he sat back on his heels now to stare at his brother. "Don't be an idiot, Sam, of course you should've called me."

"I didn't mean to scare you," Sam said sheepishly.

"You didn't scare me," Dean quickly denied without thinking, not that it would've changed his answer. Sam had actually freaked him out pretty badly, and was still doing so, and that wasn't something Sam ever needed to know. But Dean was starting to register the way Sam was shying from him, the wince in his voice. He almost snorted his relief: Sam was _embarrassed. _Chagrined at having called his big brother, near tears, to come rescue him.

"Uh-huh," Sam was answering sarcastically.

Dean resisted an automatic rebuttal, willing to let Sam save a little face. He busied himself instead carefully prying Sam's grip loose to see how bad his head was. When his brother hissed in complaint, Dean cupped his free hand on the other side of Sam's face, thumb apologetically pressed against cheekbone to hold him still.

The gash was in his hair and hard to see, but only a little fresh blood welled at the release of pressure. Dean clamped Sam's hand back against his bloody scalp, then tilted his face up to take in his sibling's eyes. He didn't looked concussed. Dean studied him narrowly. "Did you black out at all?"

"No."

The sound of clanking metal started behind Dean, but he ignored it. "Double vision? Nausea?"

"No, and no," Sam answered impatiently. "Dude, I'm fine, just got my bell rung a little."

"Sam," he said, more sharply than he'd intended. "You called me apologizing for the crash with _Dad_. Don't even try to tell me there's nothing wrong with you."

Sam's mouth snapped shut and he glared at Dean in silence.

His face was still far too pale for Dean's liking, though, his skin cool, and the sound of his desperate, small voice pleading on the phone ping-ponged around Dean's brain. He chewed his lip, glancing over at the car—tow-truck guy was working on hooking up the Impala from the rear—then back at Sam. "Okay," he finally decided. Not like he'd really wanted to involve rescue personnel, anyway. "But lie down until we're ready to go, all right?" Over Sam's mutinous look, Dean quickly said, "Just humor me, okay?"

Sam breathed out a little, then let himself be lowered back, Dean gripping his arm and shoulder. When he was reclining in the grass, Dean slid his hand from shoulder to palm flat against Sam's sternum. Then he took over holding the handkerchief, waiting until a little color returned to his brother's face, and nodded at him when Sam opened his eyes. "What happened?"

It was pretty anti-climactic: heavy car, soft shoulder, and an oncoming truck that hadn't even realized it had squeezed Sam off the road, down the crumbling dirt into the creek. Nothing remotely supernatural in the whole thing, and the sheer randomness of it was unexpectedly unsettling. Ghosts and poltergeists and demons Dean knew how to protect his own from. Old roads and bad drivers were a total crap-shoot.

Then again, there hadn't been anything natural about the last crash they'd been in, and Dean hadn't done any better on that one. He flinched at the reminder, at the thought of Sam's pleas for forgiveness.

For weeks, Sam had been practically begging Dean to talk to him about that day, about their dad's possession and death, and Dean had always brushed him off, verbally and physically. The pain, the guilt, were almost unbearable even unspoken. The thought of saying them out loud was too much.

It hadn't even occurred to him Sam might've been feeling guilty, too.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, only to look down and find his brother's eyes had closed and he was dozing. Dean grimaced, checking his pulse and his respiration again. Satisfied with both, he settled on the bank beside him, one hand balling the handkerchief to Sam's head, the other still resting over his ribs.

That was how he sat and watched tow-truck guy rescue his other girl.

00000

In all, the body work was surprisingly minor. The axles were okay, the driver's door dented just enough to stick, the hood a little ajar and one of the front headlights broken. Sam had done more damage running the car into the house of that woman in white, and what was it with him and trashing the 'pala, anyway? Dean shook his head. If his brother kept it up, Dean would start thinking he was jealous of her or something.

_You just fixed her up again after I broke her the last time. I'm sorry, man…_

Yeah, that would just be stupid. Wasn't like he'd put less time into fixing Sam than he had the _car_, right?

There was a puddle of water on the floorboards, but the motor started up after a little stammering and clanking, and right now that was all Dean needed. He roused Sam, watching his brother carefully, but Sam seemed cognizant enough to move over to the car on his own steam and without protest.

The ride to their motel was quiet. Dean's stomach growled once, and he remembered with frustration the meal he'd abandoned in the diner. No regrets, just more setbacks, more losses.

He was really tired of losses.

…_should've saved you and Dad…_

They ended up in the bathroom, Sam slouched shirtless on the edge of the tub as Dean gently rinsed the cut and his matted hair with bowls of water from the sink. He mopped a towel over the unruly locks, remembering so many other motel bathrooms, small feet kicking back and forth, huge hazel eyes. _"'M sorry, Dean, Jenna just said the mud was nice an' soft an', an', an' it squished when I jumped in it, Dean! An', an' then it jumped on my shirt…"_

He cleared his throat. "How y'holding up, dude?"

"Fine." Sam sounded beaten. As tired and empty as Dean usually felt, but always tried to hide. Sam was all surface, transparent and open…at least to Dean. All he had to do was look.

The gash was clean, and stitches were hopeless in all that hair, nor was it worth the battle with Sam to shave it. Dean dug through their kit searching for the wound sealant, eyes flicking over to Sam's lap where his fingers restlessly curled and uncurled.

_I'm sorry, Dean…_

He licked his lips. "You know the crash wasn't your fault, right?"

It seemed to take Sam some effort to answer. "The road just—"

"I don't mean now."

The large hands went still.

Dean abandoned the kit and crouched next to Sam. From there, looking up instead of down, he could see Sam's eyes in the shadows, the shadows in his eyes. "You think I would've done any better, Sam? That son of a bitch was out to get us any way possible, you know that. I don't blame you for what it did to us."

Sam's head rose, and there was a calm in his expression that didn't make Dean feel at all better. "Dad did."

Dean faltered at that. Lost his place completely in the _Guide to Little Brothers_, because that… That just didn't even…

He hadn't realized Sam had moved until his brother pressed something lightly into his hand. Dean looked down at it, blinked at the tube of sealant Sam had dug up. Dumbly, grateful for something to do that made sense, he rose to his feet and bent over Sam's head again.

There was too much there for him to even begin to sort through, Dad and his twisted orders and priorities and his sudden death and Sam. But…if Dean concentrated on the here and now, maybe he could deal with that. Answer Sam, at least.

"Well…I don't," Dean said rustily. "And it was my car you totaled, dude."

Sam's hunched body shook. It took a moment to realize he was laughing. Then he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with it. "Yeah, thanks. And speaking of that… how's she look?"

Dean shrugged, putting the cap back on the tube. There, he'd done what he could to mend the wound. "Haven't really taken a good look yet, but I'm guessing both of you are gonna need a couple of days."

"But we'll be all right," Sam said softly.

Dean paused in the midst of cleaning up the mess on the counter. "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "I think so."

And Sam was smiling at him when he looked back, just a little.

A half-hour later, Dean paused by the far bed, watching for a minute as Sam slept. Slowly, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his brother's set of car keys, weighing it lightly in his hand. Then he set it on the nightstand in Sam's line of sight.

Satisfied, Dean finally turned and headed outside to check out their car.

**Definitely, The End**


End file.
